


Special Days

by Areiton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Cas is clueless, Castiel's Birthday, Dean is a Good Cook, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Dean, First Kiss, M/M, Sam Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8074855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Dean's been acting weird all day. And then Cas realizes why. orA story to celebrate the Castiel's birthday and the anniversary of Dean being saved. <3





	

Dean has been weird all day.

It’s not unusual for Dean to be weird, but this has been…above and beyond his normal cryptically shit that Castiel doesn’t get.

Even Sam seems baffled when he stumbles into the kitchen and finds his brother cooking at seven a.m.

Dean likes to cook, but he likes his sleep more, and saves big meals for after noon. It’s almost a religious thing with him.

But here he is, putting a big platter of bacon on the table, a big fluffy frittata (when the hell did Dean learn to make that?) and triangles of toast. Coffee and cream, even though neither of them use cream and Castiel sleeps until eleven unless he’s disturbed. Dean places a bowl of chopped fruit next to the plate of hashbrowns. Frowns and adjusts something and replaces the fruit before he looks at Sam.

“Oh good. You’re up. Go get Cas.”

“Uh,” Sam says, because he’s been awake for about thirty seconds and his brother acting like Martha Stewart at seven is just too much for him. Dean makes a face, wipes his hands on his apron (his fucking _apron?)_ and pushes past Sam, muttering, “Pour the damn juice.”

Castiel looks just as bewildered as Sam when Dean propels him into the kitchen with a grip on his neck, and that makes Sam feel a little better. Lately, he feels like he’s getting only half the conversation with them, especially since Dean came back from fixing shit with Chuck and Amara.

He knows something is changing between his brother and their best friend. He just wishes they’d get through the change already and let him back into their world.

 

So they have a big fucking breakfast. And then Dean disappears. It takes Castiel a few hours to realize it, maybe because he promptly crawled into a corner of the couch, listening half-heartedly as Sam reads interesting bits of lore aloud for him. He falls asleep there, and wakes only when Dean tugs a blanket over him.

He’s watching Cas with that little half smile that’s soft.

The one that Cas, privately, in the very deepest part of his mind, thinks of as his. He’s never seen Dean look at anyone else the way he does him, has never seen that soft smile direct at anyone but him. Even the grins he gives Sam are different, tempered by years of brotherhood and loss and family and history.

This. This is different, and it makes his heart twist in the most delicious way.

“Go back to sleep, buddy,” Dean murmurs.

“Where were you?” Cas asks, his voice raspy with sleep.

“Had to run an errand. You miss me?” Dean grins.

“I always miss you,” Cas says automatically, and it’s only when Dean’s eyes go wide that he realizes that might have been more honesty than Dean really wants at the moment.

Then Dean grins, and his head bobs, once. “Fair.”

He steps away and Cas reaches out, grabbing his pant leg. “Are you ok, Dean?”

Dean stares at him, and it occurs to Cas that he has rarely ever seen the hunter so happy. “I’m awesome, man. Fucking awesome.”

 

Sam and Cas are drawn by the sound of music and water.

It’s not unheard of for Dean to spend a few hours washing Baby. The car has an unhealthily prominent place in Dean’s life, and they quit trying to dissuade him from it years ago.

Both of them are startled when they get to the garage of the bunker and find Dean washing Castiel’s Contiental.

“Dean?” Cas says, surprised.

Dean grins at him over his shoulder, and that is a thing Cas will never forget. Dean in tiny shorts that are almost indecently tight, grinning over his shoulder with his ass in the air, and water droplets tracing down his cheeks and catching on his eyelashes is quite literally an image ripped from Castiel’s favorite fantasies.  

“You’re awake!” he says, delighted, completely ignoring Sam at Cas’s side.

“Um. What are you doing?” Cas asks, his voice raspy, and he’s just going to say that was because of the sleep he’s still shaking and definitely not the lust that’s surging through him like a fucking wave.

“She looked like she could use a shine. Baby can share the attention every once in a while,” Dean says nonchalantly, giving his car an affectionate smile before returning his attention to the golden Continental that Dean has always claimed to hate.

“Hey, I’m gonna cook dinner soon. And then we’ll watch a movie, ok?”

Dean grins at them, and Sam asks, kind of hesitantly, “Are you feelin’ ok, Dean?”

“’M great. Why?”

Because you’re cooking for us. Twice. Because you’re wearing those obscene shorts. Because you’re washing my car. Because you tucked me and let me nap and didn’t make fun of me or demand we find a new case.

The reasons run through Cas’s head so quickly and he glances at Sam. Sees those same things reflected there.

And Sam’s mouth snaps shut. “No reason.”

 

Dinner is cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers with perfectly crisp lettuce and tomatoes, bacon and grilled onions. Piles of hand cut fries sprinkled with parmesan and pepper. A salad that has Sam’s eyes going wide and startled. There’s a tiny plate of neatly cut sandwiches and a…Cas blinks.

“Are those burritos?” he asks, and Dean grins, nodding eagerly.

The table is covered in his favorite foods.

Dean made him breakfast.

Dean washed his car and let him nap, and he’s watching Castiel now with big hopeful eyes, and it all adds up to something. Dean scratches at his arm, waiting, shifting his weight a little, and Cas can see him wilt. See all the anticipation and eager hope drain out of him like a popped balloon.

He forces a smile though, as he pushes Cas toward his chair. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

 

Dean is sitting on his bed when the knock comes. Holding the beat up picture frame  he picked up today. And wondering if he really is an idiot.

Of course it doesn’t mean anything. Castiel is as old as the fucking earth. He watched the angels fall, watched humanity evolve. It’s ridiculous to get this worked up over something this small.

But all summer, they’ve been dancing around each other. Dancing closer to the inevitable that Dean feels in his bones.

And he’s ok with the dance. He’s ok with it taking time. It’s been eight years. So he came back from fixing Chuck and Amara’s bullshit, and he had a few expectations. He had a right, he thought. But Cas had been withdrawn. Pulled back. Watched him like he was almost scared. And that’s ok. He didn’t _like_ it but he got it. It’s easy to say shit you don’t mean when you’re staring at death.

They had a fuckton of experience with that.

But he thought Castiel did mean it. They had eight years of history and pain and laughter,  betrayal and loyalty and every fucking thing, between them. Eight years, and it all came down to this: Castiel followed where Dean led. Dean trusted Castiel.

They were family.

So they’d get there. With whatever it was this was.  

But today. He just _today_ wanted it to be special. It meant something, to him. He wanted it to mean something to Cas.

The knock came again. And, “Dean?”

Shit.

He shoves the picture frame under his pillow, fixes a smile on his lips and opens the door. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas watches him in that way that he has. The way that makes Dean feel seen, not for the hunter or the brother that has always defined him, but for him. The guy who likes pie and hot showers, who likes greasy food and cooking, and pop culture more than he should and this angel.

God he loves this angel.

“Will you come with me?” Cas asks, seriously, and Dean blinks at him.

“Uh,”

“Just for a walk, Dean,” Castiel says, smiling.

 

Which is how they end up walking down the road outside the bunker, Dean a little nervous and Castiel quiet, hands buried in his pockets, watching the sky.

“Thank you,” he says, finally, and Dean sneaks a glance at the angel.

“For what?” Dean asks. Cas gives him that no nonsense gaze he’s so fucking good at and Dean flushes. Nods once.

And the sky explodes above them, a firework display of crimson and white sparks. Cas steps into his space, and tilts his head and thunder rolls. The air feels electric and alive and Dean would be nervous, if this were anyone else.

But it’s not.

It’s Castiel.

He licks his lips and he doesn’t miss it when Cas follows the motion.

“Do you still need to be convinced that good things do happen?” Castiel asks, his voice impossibly low, and lightening rips across the sky.

He doesn’t see Cas’s wings, so much as he feels them. Feels held by them.

“You remembered,” Dean murmurs.

Cas’s lips quirk up in a smile. “I could never forget the first time you stabbed me, Dean.”

A tiny flush works it’s way up Dean’s cheeks and he mumbles an apology that Castiel almost misses.

“Shut up,” Castiel says, his voice so full of warmth and fondness it pulls Dean’s gaze up.

The lightening and fireworks have died down now, but when Castiel grips his shoulder, and pulls Dean to him with one hand at the back of his neck, Dean is pretty sure he can still see them.

And when they kiss.

It is everything.

Eight years of longing and love and blood and promises.

All condensed down to the press of lips, the sweep of a tongue, the tiny gasp that Castiel drinks down, the nip of teeth and Dean’s hands fisting in Cas’s damn coat, dragging him closer. _Closer_

Always. Closer.

 

It’s easy and natural, and Sam doesn’t blink at all when they stumble back into the bunker later, starry eyed and hands twisted together, and Dean bearing the unmistakable red beginnings of a pretty spectacular hickey.

He doesn’t blink when they curl up on the couch. It’s the same as always, Dean and Sam arguing about the movie while Cas reads the description with interest, except this time, Cas’s fingers card through Dean’s hair, and Dean is braced against his chest.

And he doesn’t blink, when the movie ends, and Dean disappears into his room, tugging Cas along behind him.

He does pause the next morning, when he sees the picture frame.

It’s old, with dirty wood that’s stained with what looks like sigils. There are burn marks in it, like sparks of fire lit there before going out. But it looks right, with it’s peeling paint and broken sigils and burn marks. Even half of a bullet hole, if he’s not mistaken.

It fits them.

The picture is of the three of them, one Bobby took, a few years back, when Dean and Sam were laughing at something and Cas was smiling at them, a little confused but happy that they were happy.

He doesn’t remember the picture being taken, but he knows Dean’s been keeping it in is room, and it settles something in his gut.

His brother finally caught his angel.

But Sam still has a place there.

When Castiel appears, looking disheveled and sleepy and entirely too pleased with himself, Sam smirks.

At least, this way, sharing the same day that Cas pulled Dean from hell. Well.

Dean won’t forget their anniversary.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't consider today their anniversary, in the traditional sense. I think they took time to fall in love. But. I think that it's important, and I wanted to write about it. <3


End file.
